


A Court of Curses and Whispers

by ry_smit_212



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abuse, Addiction, Angst, Azriel needs a hug, F/M, Fluff, Healing, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Magical Healing Cock, Mates, Mating Bond, Post-Book 3.5: A Court of Frost and Starlight, Sarah J Maas, Slow Burn, The Court of Dreams (ACoTaR), The Court of Nightmares (ACoTaR), The Day Court (Acotar), The Night Court, Why Did I Write This?, keirs a dick, mostly canon, shadowsinger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ry_smit_212/pseuds/ry_smit_212
Summary: For Azriel Life had always been suffocated by darkness. Born an Illyrian bastard, trapped in a cage of darkness dreaming to fly, and torture by his own brothers. Until his shadows earned him freedom.For Sorose's life had always been suffocated by the hand of her father. She was his biggest secret, no one could know she even existed. Sorose dreams of a world in which she can be free of her father and the shadow left by her sister.Something bad is happening in the Night Court, families with young children are being slaughtered and no one knows why. When an old prophecy comes to light Azriel must step up for his court and confront his past, all while trying not to lose his potential future. Sorose needs a family and she finds it in a pair of hazel eyes."It's a hard thing to do, heal. But I think that girl might just the answer."
Relationships: Azriel (ACoTaR)/Original Character(s), Azriel (ACoTaR)/Original Female Character(s), Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	1. Prologue

The Steward of the Court of Nightmares hates a great many things. He hates his half-breed High Lord. He hates his whore of a daughter and especially the Illyrian mutts she calls “friends”. But on this fateful night, Keir Darkbringer holds the most hatred for the servant male who had woke him up from the deepest of sleep only moments ago. Keir had done a great number of cruel and barbaric things in his long life, most of which went without consequence. It seemed that sleep was to be his curse for his wrongdoings, as he and a peaceful night of rest rarely found each other. This often made waking him up to be a more daunting task, for the male before him coward at his feet unable to speak, it wasn’t until Keir threatened him with a slow and painful death did he squeak out his reasoning to wake the lord.  
“Th- there and em-m-emergency my-my gr-grace. A-a-a member of your council has- has d-died. Th-he guards f-f-found only m-m-moments-ago. M-my grace” Now this was odd. It was a rarity for a High Fae to be found dead, especially one of importance. That was unless they had betrayed the court somehow, That can't be the case. I would have told me by now, I would have been there for the execution. It almost seemed to sadden Keir the council-male was already dead, he did always enjoy a good execution. Nothing compares to watching a fully grown fae begging for forgiveness on their deathbed.  
“Who was it?” Keir said, rising from his bed.  
“I-I don-nu my gr-grace. They told me to co-come and get-to you.” The servant knelt shaking on the marble flooring right in front of the door that led to the servant's hall. There were many servants at the House of Stone, all of them lesser fae, who were destined to spend their whole lives working for the family. The House of Stone was an heirloom to the Darkbringer family. It had been gifted to them by the High Lord thousands of years ago. Keir had been born in this house, grown up here, sired an heir here, and in many years he planned to die there. It was a comforting thought.  
“Who are ‘they’?” Keir’s tone had grown darker and impatient. It's a very dangerous thing to bore the Steward of the Court of Nightmares.  
“The g-guards, they are waiting for you downstairs. M-my Grace.”  
Keir had slipped his robe on, tying it perfectly around his waist. He slowly and sadistically bent down to meet the servant's eyes. “Do you know what guards do?”  
“They protect things and people sir.”   
“Exactly. This is why I have full confidence that they will handle our little situation until a more reasonable hour. Until then I would very much like to go back to sleep.” Keir grabbed to male face in his hand, squeezing it in a manner of which he knew would hurt the most “Go. Now.”   
The male ran back quickly to the door as if he were a cat being chased by a wolf. Keir chuckled at the sight as he stood up and started to move back to his bed.  
“Ummm my grace”  
“ARE YOU DEAF!? I SAID, GO!” Keir had turned red and all the candles in the had gone out leaving them in darkness. The servant had fallen to his knee once more, half expecting to be dead.  
“I-i w-was ju-just wondering if I-I sh-should wake you w-when the H-High L-lord and L-lady are h-here”  
Keir froze in his tracks. Cold darkness crept into the room, almost swallowing it whole.   
“What. Did. You. Just. Say?”

***

With the news of the High Lord and Lady’s visit, Keir had gone to work immediately. He killed the servant male slowly, painfully, needing to realize the anger inside of him. In a matter of minutes, the Lord Darkbringer was dressed and sitting in a carriage on his way to Mother above knows what.  
“Did they tell who it was or what happened?” His mate has spoken softly, paying more attention to the passing building of hewn city then to what he was saying earlier. He knew she hadn’t been listening   
“No Lilith, like I said before, I know nothing of what we are walking into” Keir was about to knock on the driver's window at the front of the carriage when His wife grabbed his hand holding it in her gloved one. For a brief moment they looked at each other, and Lilith smiled softly. As much he was a dark and horrid man he loved two things, his bloodline and the legacy it held, and his mate. She was soft and gentle but also dark and timid. Even after over five hundred years of marriage, she still excited him.  
The carriage came to a stop and the pair heard the driver yell “We’re here” loud enough for the rest of Hewn City to hear.  
“I know this house. This is the Foresarrow house.” Lord Foresarrow was the council-male in charge of dark magic in the Court of Nightmares. A smart and noble man with similar ideals to that of Kiers, it was no surprise the male had enemies. But for it to come to this was shocking, even in the Court of Nightmares.  
“My Lord Kier and my Lady Lilith follow me, Please,” said one of the guards standing watch outside the house. As they entered the building however it was far different than either Darkbringer remembered it to be. The stench was what hit the first. Death, the whole estate wreaked of it. Kier nearly gagged at the stench of it all. The wallpaper had been torn from the wall at some places and the railing to the stairs was ripped clean off. “We don't know the extent of what happened; it looked to be some magical creature or beast. The city was swept and nothing was found.”  
“Check again.”  
“Yes sir.”  
“Were there any survivors?” Lilith asked the guard. There was grief in her voice as she tried to take in the damage, she held hope in her voice as well. Keir didn't know any of his wife's friends, nor did he care. It was possible for her and Mrs. Foreshadow to have been close.  
“Yes, ma'am it seems Mrs foreshadow had given birth only moments before the attack. The girl was not harmed.”   
“Let me see the babe”   
Lilith…  
The guard led up the stairs and down the hall of the home. Lilith what are you… Iron shield slammed down, blocking Keir from his mate's mind. At the end of the hall there laid what seemed to be a nursery and in the center a white bassinet. Keir watched as his wife walked over to the babe. Her finger rubbed the cheek of the infant, there was a small smile on his mate's face, one he hadn’t seen in a while.   
“Leave us” Lilith commanded the guard. She turned back to the child and slowly, safely brought the child into her arm.   
“Lilith I don’t know if that…”  
“Let's keep it. Raise it as our”. Lilith turned to her husband “ looks how cute she is, I know we could do this.”   
Keir walked up to her, grabbing her face softly as a lover would. “Lilith, this child is beautiful, yes, but she can't replace her.” Her eyes harden at the mention of the child that betrayed them. Lilith had taken it the hardest after what happened, she hasn’t been the same since. There was anger in her still. Lilith pulled away from her husband’s touch  
“I know it's just we could do it right this time. Raise her better this time. She could do what Morrigan could not. Please.”  
She had the look in her eye, a look he knew all too well.  
“Is there anything I can say to convince you to not do this?”  
She shook her head, tears threatened to fall from her eye. Keir looked down at the child that was fast asleep in his wife's embrace. The blanket revealed a small head of soft blonde hair and pointed ears that just peaked out. Keir sighed and knew what he needed to do.  
“The High Lord and Lady are to be here any moment if they see you with the child they will not let you take it. Go now, I will deal with Rhysand.”

***

Keir watched Lilith from the nursery window step into the carriage, the child still in her arms. He would need to find another way home as the carriage pulled away with his wife and now daughter inside it. Only a moment later did three large figures all adorning wings of midnight black appeared on the front lawn. Keir turned heading to leave the nursery. It was too early for this indeed. The same guard from before was waiting in the hallway for the lord.  
“Between you and me, there were no survivors. Do I make myself a clear soldier?”  
“Y-Yes sir”   
“Good, now stand up straight, your High Lord approaches.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW Mentions of substance abuse and addiction

_18 years later_

Azriel had been waiting for the sun to make itself visible for what felt like hours now. He couldn't sleep, he didn’t want to sleep. Sleep was just another form of pain for the shadowsinger. The darkest of memories always visited Azriel in sleep. The sun had just started to peek itself over the buildings, morning would be here momentarily. For someone who lived, served, and dedicated his life to the Night Court, he loved mornings. A new day meant he wouldn’t be alone, he had things to do and people to see. Azriel’s nights were always spent alone. He hated to admit how lonely he truly was. A new day meant Azriel wouldn’t have to lie in his bed, distracting himself from the pain, only the water-stained ceiling above him for entertainment. At least the bed was comfortable enough.

The shadowsigner tried focusing on his breath. The pain of life and lonesomeness has caught up with him. He craved for numbness, he craved to disappear into nothingness. In Azriel's point of view, feeling nothing was better than feeling anything at all. 

Azriel rolled himself over onto his side wrapping a wing around his torso as a makeshift blanket. It brought none of the comforts he desperately yearned for. He brought his legs up to meet his chest as a second attempt for relief, groaning only slightly at the movement. Curled up into a ball like a child in the womb. _Pathetic, absolutely pathetic. Why is it so damn cold in here?_ He dared to peek an eye open, the sun was indeed shining through the stained glass window as it imprinted its beautiful design on the parallel wall. The curtains surrounding the portrait of colorful glass flowed with the wind coming down from Velrais mountainous district. He knew he should get up and close it. He knew would have to get up soon anyway. Azriel had fought in some of the most savage of battles, snuck past the richest kings and queens, and yet the simplest of tasks was the hardest for the spymaster. Azriel mustered the strength to push himself up, and with light-headed caution walked over to the window slamming it shut. 

The world started to come into focus as Azriel moved his gaze from the window to the bedside table only a few feet away. That damn table was home to Azriel's deepest shame, a secret he would never tell. Containers filled with painkillers riddled the surface, some had even fallen to the floor though Azriel couldn’t find it in him to pick them up. He started taking them during the first war almost five hundred years ago, a bone in his left wing snapped during battle. The pain was excruciating and medication was a simple solution. But when the wing had completely healed he kept taking them. It took him a while but he finally weaned himself off of them. Life was good and he was clean, and then Rhys went under the mountain. The feeling was worse he would do anything for comfort in those first months without his High Lord. So when the opportunity arose, a way to numb the pain of losing a brother, Azriel took it. Rhys had come out from the mountain almost thirty years ago, Azriel had tried to stop, but it was too late he relied on them too much. 

Azriel would do anything to replace the crutch he had on the pills. He had been trying for years. He did before he could do it again. It's all a vicious cycle, Azriel would get clean for a couple of days maybe weeks. Until one night he finds himself alone, nothing but the memories of past pain for company. Torturing him, mocking him, and when it all because too much he caves. Lying on the floor of his living rock numb until he finds the strength to put himself in bed until it all wears off.

It smelled in Azriel's apartment, he hadn’t been cleaned in awhile mostly because whenever Azriel was home he was either high or trying to sober up. Which brought him to his current predicament, If he had a meeting with the High Lord in forty minutes what was the best way to sober up. Normally a shower would suffice but the handle had broken clean off last week. 

Azriel trekked his way down the hall of his apartment bracing an arm on the wall for support. The kitchen was probably the cleanest area of the small apartment seeing as he never used it. He shared his meals with family and he was grateful for it. He couldn't fly like this, he would have to walk to his High Lord.

***

Velaris was starting to get cold, the autumn winds were picked from the ocean beyond and carried into the city. Azriel liked the cold, he was born and bred in the Illyrian one of the coldest places in Prythian. The cold felt very natural to him. He was almost glad he had to walk to the riverside estate. It could give him time to quickly sober up and think about what he would say to Rhys if did pick up on his little habit. 

The walk to the riverside estate had taken the spymaster long; he knew the way very well. The house is much larger than the old townhouse and fits the growing family. The townhouse had been gifted to Azriel almost five years ago by Rhys and Feyre. He couldn’t bring himself to move into the house. He didn’t want to wreck the memories he had there with new lonely ones. He made a promise to himself though that once he was clean he would move. Now it sits alone and empty, waiting for Azriel. Though he does let Elain use the backyard for a nice vegetable garden all of which goes to meals for the family.

When Azriel walked in the front door of the Riverside home, he could hear somebody in the kitchen muttering to themselves. It couldn’t be Nuala and Cerridwen as the two of them often work in silence, they always had kept to themselves. As he got closer to the kitchen, he realized just who it was, and when he turned the corner into the entryway there she was. Feyre, the High Lady of the Night Court, still in her pajamas, was sitting at the breakfast nook talking to her eleven-month-old son Ciaran as he ate his breakfast.

“Good morning Feyre,” Azriel said standing in the archway. As soon as the words left his mouth, Feyre jumped in her seat, earning a laugh from the babble baby boy whose face was covered in some type of hot cereal. 

“Oh cauldron Az, you scared me”

“My apologies, it wasn't my int….”

“It’s fine.” Feyre washed off the encounter as she wiped some of the porridge that had spilled in her shirt, then proceeded to wipe Ciaran's face. 

Ciaran was born late last year, only a couple of weeks before the solstice. He was a very happy baby, had been since the day he was born. At eleven months the child already reminded Azriel of Rhysand, not just in appearance but in charisma. It was truly fun to watch the pair of them. Azriel was happy for his friends truly but their sometimes sadness in Azriel’s eye when he watches the child. Azriel had always wanted a child. He wanted to give a child the happiness he had been deprived of growing up. But deep down Azriel knew he would never sire one, having children requires a female. The only female Azriel had ever considered having kids with was Mor, and he was not worthy of her. He never would be. For him to be the male to give her children would be an insult to her very being. He just couldn’t do that to her, not after everything she went through. 

“How are you today? Did you just get here?”

“Yes, I slept at my place. I'm good and you?” _LIAR_. a shadow called to him, running up his leg rapidly. He hated lying to Feyre. She deserved the truth and more, he couldn’t give it to her and for that, he felt like a terrible friend.

“Tired but good. Rhysand is upstairs in his study if you're looking for him.”

“Thanks. See you later, Feyre, Ciaran.” As Azriel walked up the stairs she heard Ciaran return to babbling to his mother. A smile grew on the shadowsinger's mouth. 

***

One thing Azriel had always admired about his High Lord was how he kept his study very well organized, but also a complete disaster all at once. The old executive desk sat under mountains of papers, books, and things that even Azriel couldn’t identify. And yet somehow, Rhysand always knew where everything was, and never did anything get misplaced. Maybe it was magic, or maybe it was just a skill Azriel desperately needed.

Azriel leaned himself against the walnut doorway that led into the study watching the high lord crouched over his work. Azriel could hear snoring coming from down the hallway meaning that Cassian had returned and was already making himself right at home. Home, this truly was Azriel's home more than that apartment was or would be.

“How can you do any work with that awful noise coming out of Cassian?” Azriel questioned as stepping into the High Lord’s den closing the door behind him. A roar of laughter came from both of them as Azriel crossed the room.

“You're right on time, come sit,” Rhys said as he gestured to the leather armchair in front of him, which was mostly reserved for a late-night drink rather than work. The high lord eye his spymaster as he sat, Azriel felt his suspension. “Azriel, Is something bothering you?”

“Nothing, you?”

“I'm fine” 

Rhysand chuckled but quickly returned to a more worrying composure for his brother. _The High Lord of the night court is not easily tricked_ , Azriel felt a shadow curl and tickle his ear, they are always whispering. _He knows. He knows something wrong. He knows what you did._

“Azriel, are you sure? You can tell me anything you know that right” the High Lord said snapping him out of the shadows.

“Yes, of course. I'm fine, honesty”

“Alright...” Suspicion still danced in Rhysand's eyes.

_Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong_

The chair opposite to that of the shadowsinger creaked as his brother leaned back, Azriel knew this look in Rhys’s eye. It was the look he presents in times of anguish. He donned the same look of a few nights before leaving to go under the mountain. The look of a strong leader considering his opposition wisely, but under it all was fear. He might be the most powerful High Lord but that never exempted the male from fear. “I hate to ask this of you Az, but I'm afraid we need answers. And we need them now. Something is wrong with the Night Court.”

“Wrong?” Azriel question.

“If I am being honest I don’t even know how to explain it, but I know I'd like to deal with this quickly and quietly before things get out of hand.” _Out of hand?_ Azriel had never seen Rhys talk like this. He knew Rhys would do anything to avoid another war but he didn’t think things were getting worse. “There have been attacks going on recently, one in Illyria yesterday, two in the Hewn city about a week ago, and four in villages all around the Night Court. All happened at the home and all of them were pregnant women or women and their young children. These aren't fae hands who could have done this. Cassian went and saw a crime scene yesterday it was very … disturbing. Whatever this is, it's leaving its mark. It's magic, I know that. A dark and ancient type I’ve never seen before.”

“With all due respect Rhys, this seems more of Amren’s area of expertise”

Rhys let out a chuckle at the mention of his small demonic second. 

“You would think, she hasn’t seen or heard anything like it either.”

Odd. This is all very odd.

“You said it’s leaving its mark, how?” Azriel interrogated 

“A symbol has been painted on the front door using the victim's blood.” Rhys pulled on a small square piece of paper from the pocket, most likely given to him by the general. In the middle was a symbol and the hair on Azriel’s neck rose at the sight of it. A circular drawing of an eye, a line was drawn down from the bottom of the eye with the dashes toward the end. It looks almost like a key. Surrounding the drawing was what appeared to be an ancient language. Azriel felt a connection to the language, he should know it and yet he did not. “Have you seen it before?”

“No, it's weird though it feels oddly familiar.”

“Familiar, how?”

“It feels like I should know it and yet I don’t,” Azriel spoke truthfully.

“Interesting. Azriel I need you to go to the day court. I have notified Helion and he is expecting you. If Amren doesn't know anything, maybe their libraries will.”

“Yes, My Lord,” said Azriel, slightly poking fun at Rhysand for the seriousness he used in his voice. That earned a soft chuckle from the male as his eyes looked to the window that showed the Sidra below. 

“Velaris is beautiful today, isn’t it.” 

“I think it's beautiful every day.”

“I suppose you're right, you should leave soon. I want you home before nightfall. Amren, Feyre, and I have decided to visit Hewn City to see if they know anything.” Azriel scowled internally at the mention of the city. He hated that place more than anything. Mor is the only good thing to have ever or will ever come out of that city. “I want you to come along with us.” As much as he hated the court of nightmares he would go if his High Lord commanded it. He gave the High Lord a quick nod before turning and headed for the door. 

“Azriel, don't be late.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not update for a couple of days. :( I have A LOT of school work to do.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda long but sorry. I would love to hear some feedback on the story good or bad.  
> TW! Not eating, Disordered Eating

Sorose Darkbringer’s body did not belong to her, she knew that from a very young age. Everything the girl had worn, ate and did had to go through the approval of her father. The grip the male had on his own daughter's neck was suffocating. The life of a female in the Court of Nightmare was drowning, chained down from her very first breath. Destined to serve the males around her, no matter the cost. Sorose often thought of a life filled with more, more happiness, more love, and above all choice. The choice to be who she was. It was only as a daydream, Sorose was convinced that there was no place in the world that was truly like this. 

Sorose yearned for her younger years when she was blissfully unaware of the task that lied unhead, what her role in society would become, became painstakingly clear. The child had always been separated from her father, ever since birth they had been distanced, only on occasion was she presented before him by a nursemaid or her mother. The man seemed to hold no love for the girl. Sorose never really seemed to care. The severity of Sorose's situation drastically changed when Sorose had turned 12 years old when she first saw the High Lord and his mate, the High Lady. She hadn’t meant to look inside the Females' head she couldn’t remember even having a say in the matter. Though she couldn’t stop the image and took control of her head.

_ She was in a forest, she did not know where. The trees around her were of all different shades of reds and oranges, not a green leaf in sight. She couldn’t have been in the night court for it was winter, the leaves out outside of the mountain would have already fallen. It must have been the autumn court. But how did she get here? The girl couldn’t winnow this far, the effort would have killed, how was this possible. It was then that the child remembered her lesson, daemti. It must have been a power fae that showed her this, This was a memory. Not her own but of someone else, who, she did not know? When Sorose turned around hoping to find answers, she was struck with horror. Lying on the ground only a few feet from where she stood a female, blonde hair and a face similar to that of her mamas. She was naked, Sorose could see the bloody gashes and bruises that mangled her body. The fae in front of her had suffered a terrible fate. Sorose tried moving toward the female. She could help her. She could save the female. Her feet wouldn’t move, she was forced to watch. She watches on in horror as the female struggles to breathe, struggling to stay alive.  _

_ The scene began the change, the trees around her began to lift from the ground, the wind picked up around her. The child sank to her knees putting her head between her legs, closing her eyes, hoping it would end soon. The dirt ground all of a sudden changes, she dared to peak an eye open to see a wood floor. The tree had been replaced by the walls of her home. It was over. Sorose ran up the stairs, she had to find someone. Anyone. When she got to the top of the stairs, however, she paused, the portrait above the stairs had changed. There was another girl in the painting, it was the girl from the woods. She wore a black dress similar to that of her mother, she looked different than she had been only moments ago but still there was a tinge of sadness in her eyes. Sorose turned around to see her father standing only a few feet away looking at the painting. He couldn’t see her. Why couldn't I see her? The scene began to change again, as Sorose looked at her father. Everything went black and she heard in the voice of her mother “She could do what Morrigan could not. Please.” _

Sorose had felt someone grab her arm snapping her out of the memory that controlled her, the party around them continued as nothing had happened. It was her mother and when she looked at her she knew something was wrong. “What did you do?” Sorose eyes moved from her mother to the high lady, she stood there talking to her mate unbothered, untouched. 

Sorose and her parents left early that night where she would spend the rest of the night explaining herself to her father. He was angry that night, she still remembered everything that happened. They explained how once she got her first bleeding, her virtue would be sold to the highest bidder and the girl in her vision was the Morrigan. And then when her mother left and Sorose was left alone with her father, still angry as ever. He made sure she understood the importance of her actions. Made sure she would never forget. 

Six years later the scars on her back remain. Still reminding her that to cross her father was to make a deal with death. That was the first time, the first of many times he got violent with her. Her back was a story of pain and a life sentence to horror. Sorose knew what the future held, and as much as she knew she couldn’t stop it, she still sought to delay it. She was 18 and still, her bleeding never came, she knew malnourishment would prevent the bleeding from coming. She had put her trust in a lesser fae, Misty, to make it seem as though she had been eating and if she ever did get her bleeding, they had a plan for that too.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, I don't like looking at you like this. It's too much, you've gone too far.” Misty scowled at Sorose as she did her hair for the court that night. Despite being a lesser fae, Misty never held back when it came to telling Sorose the truth. She told it like it was, and for that Sorose was grateful for the fae. She was right, as much as she hated to admit it. Her face was hollow, her eyes looked as if they could cave in and her arm and legs looked as if they were almost all bone. She could barely stand up with getting lightheaded. “I can see your ribs through your chemise, please for me, stop doing this to yourself.”

“I have to” Sorose lied. She started doing this at first to stop the bleeding but along the way she got to a point where she liked it. She liked not eating, as sick as it was she didn’t want to stop.

“No you don't. I-I could get you out of here and sneak you out of the city.”

“I can’t leave, you know” they would find her and instantly bring her back to her father. Then she would suffer the same fate as her sister had. Maybe even worse and she still would have to marry, or maybe he would be merciful and give her a quick death. “Where would I even go Misty?”

“I heard a rumor… that there is a hidden city somewhere in the court.” Sorose laughs at the absurdity coming from the maid. “Don’t laugh at me. You could go there and be free. A beautiful city made from pure starlight. I-I do sound silly don’t I.”

“It sounds like a dream. How does one find this city of starlight?”

“The high lord might know, you could ask him tonight?” She was hopeful, Sorose could hear it in her voice. She couldn't take that from her.

“Misty, If this city is as beautiful as you say, I doubt the high lord would know about it.”

“Is he as terrible as you say?” 

“Yes,” Sorose answered truthfully. She had never spoken to the male, she wasn’t allowed. But she saw the terrible things he had done. Seen the aftermath of the violence he brought to the court. She had always been scared of her High Lord, rightfully so. 

“Maybe you could ask the Morr-”

“Don't talk about her!” Sorose snipped at the maid. Sorose was always a kind person; she hated the way people in the Court of Nightmare treated others. She hated the way her family treated the lesser fae. But she held hatred for The Morrigan. She lives with the High Lord, helping to rule the court. She knew what would happen to Sorose and never came to save her. She must have.

“I'm sorry miss,” Misty said, bowing her head in regret.

“That's alright, I know you didn't mean it.” Sorose reached her out and took her friend's hand. They look at each other in the mirror in front of them, exchanging a look of trust. 

The door to Sorose’s room banged open as her mother entered with a dress in hand.

“Misty, get out I must speak to my daughter.” Misty quickly scrambled for the door turning once she reached it to take a long and respectful bow to the ladies of the house. Sorose’s mother lifted the dress in her hand and presented it to her daughter. As much as she hated going to court, the dresses were always lovely. The dresses had become almost a ritual of there's, Misty would do Sorose’s hair but her mother would put on her dress.

Sorose and Lilith did have a very conflicting relationship. They did enjoy similar things. When she was very little Sorose's mother taught her how to play the piano, now Sorose had passed her mother in skill. Lilith did love Sorose very much, but never would she speak against her father. No matter how many times he beat Sorose, not an ill word. 

This was the only thing that differed the pair, something that made Sorose feel very alienated from her parents was her appearance. While the morrigan had looked almost identical to that of her mother with the small details of her father to differ the two. The hair on her head was still blonde but instead lying flat against her it bounced in beautiful waves. And there was the freckle. Mother above how she hated those freckles. It would take a lifetime to count all the freckles that donned her face, back arm and leg. In her personal opinion they made her look as if she was still a child. Perhaps she still was a child, the imagination and daydreams that often lingered in children's eyes never seem to leave the girl. Sorose looked as though she could be foregien to the family. She doubted that she was, and still there was a small resemblance. She knew how much her father wanted power, after what happened with Morrigan her parents probably tried for centuries to have another child. It didn’t change the fact that she was different. Constantly living under her sister's shadow.

“Must you speak to Misty like that?” questioned her mother as she finished buttoning the back of her dress. 

“She's a lesser fae she can handle, now stand up straight let me look at you.” The dress was a baby blue chiffon that fell right at her feet, dragging slightly as she walked. The chest was embroidered with beautiful flowers of a similar color. Most likely sewn by hand. Sorose was an image of pure innocents as she stood next to her mother, who adorned her dress of night blue and power. Lilith took her daughter's face in her hand gently. “Beautiful as always” softly pressing a kiss to the child's forehead.

“Thank you, mama”

“Now the high lord and his mate are expected to be at court tonight, do you know what is expected of you tonight?” she questioned, quickly changing her disposition to a more serious matter.

“Shield up at all times, no talking to papa, and stay on the upper balcony with you at all times.” The balcony is where the most important females and the daughter stay during court. Some would gamble, most would exchange that week's gossip but most importantly for Sorose they could sit. She wouldn’t have to stand and risk that of fainting. She hated to draw attention to herself.

“Good girl, now let's go, we mustn't be late.” 

Sorose looked at herself the one last time. Looked at the shell she had become. She had a feeling she couldn’t shake that something terrible was about to happen.

***

For the High Lady of the Night Court, there was one good thing about going to the Court of Nightmares, making the fae that tortured her friend, her family bow and quiver at her feet. No matter how many centuries it had been she would make them pay for every drop of blood spilled from the Morrigan. She hadn’t been there when it happened, hadn't been there to make them pay. The visit that night had been impromptu, one might even say unplanned. Feyre along with Amren thought the trip should wait, there was no denying they understaffed at the moment. But Rhys had already made up his mind. He wanted an answer for these attacks, and he couldn’t wait any longer. The high lady and second tried to convince the High Lord to wait until the next day when Mor would be back from a trip to the winter court, he refused. The last thing he wanted was for the attack to continue. Having Mor with them would make the trip look less desperate merely an average check in on the court. They would have to make do with what they had. 

Rhys stood by the fireplace waiting for his mate, they were to leave for Hewn City momentarily. He looked down at the fire below, deep in thought. Peace, they had peace for so long. It had been 30 years since the war and Velaris thrived as it always had. Those who fled the city after the attacks happened had started to come back. The damage on the streets had all but been washed away. The city of starlight had healed beautifully with time. But now something was stirring he could feel it. To bring war and destruction back to the place he loved, it would kill him to bring that pain to people, his people.

_Rhys, I do not think these will come to war._

The High Lord had been so lost in his worries he didn’t even realize his mate had carefully snuck up behind him. Her voice brought instant comfort to the male. Years of pain, hardship, and worries were quickly soothed by a couple of soft-spoken words. He turned to face his wife to see the elaborate dress of black and midnight blue she adorned. 

“You look beautiful as always, Feyre.” Simple but true, he meant every word he said to her. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She shot back, continuing the endless game of wit the couple played together. Her eyes then fell to the floor. “Ciaran’s asleep. It has been almost 10 months since his birth and I still don’t like to leave him.”

“I know. But I have faith in Cassian. Hey, and if things go wrong Elain will always be here.” Rhys understood his mate's struggle to leave their child. It had taken them so long to finally conceive and when they did, the pregnancy hadn't been merciful. It only made sense for Feyre to be protective of the child, Ciaran would probably be the only child the pair could have. A fact that pained the couple greatly. 

“Why do I have a feeling that it will go wrong?” Feyre murmured jokingly. 

“What! C’mon it's Cass, general of the night court, the lord of bloodshed and babysitter to the son of night.” Another cheap attempt to comfort his mate.

“Yes, the male in charge of our son for the night is called the lord of bloodshed and is banned from the summer court for life.” Feyre snorted, some of the worry leaving her eyes. 

“It was only one building!” A male voice had shouted from the top of the stairs only a few feet from where the couple had been standing. Cassian had been eavesdropping on them. The couple moved to the bottom of the stairs to look up at their friend. “Don't worry Feyre everything is going to be A-okay.”

Before either one could respond to the grinning general who was leaning on the railing. There was a small serious knock on the door. Amren was here.

“High lord, High lady.” the second greeted as she stepped into the house. She wore the usual simple black dress layered with jewels and gems gifted to her throughout the years. 

“Second” Rhys said, replying with a simpler tone.

“Shall we.” Amren was pointing nodding toward the door.

“Azriel isn’t here yet, maybe we should wait for him,” Feyre suggested trying to delay the departure.

“No. If we are to go to the court, we are leaving now, spymaster or not. Azriel will simply have to meet us there.” Amren stated firmly. Feyre looked to Rhys who gave her a small smile. She couldn’t put this off, and so she grabbed onto her mate's arms who held onto the Second in command and the winnow to the Court of Nightmares. 

  
  


***

As the daughter of the steward of the courts of nightmares, Sorose was supposed to be an image of virtue. Even the girl's magic was pure, though her ability to use magic had deteriorated throughout the years along with her body. She could still winow a great distance though not without draining herself and a daemti. Her parents realized that after the incident with the high lady. Sorose had never known the extent of her power but she felt as though there was more she needed to learn about herself. It didn't matter how strong she was for she was pure, clean, and untouched that was all that mattered. Except for one thing. She has done one thing deemed morally wrong. Gamble, the female had inherited a natural ability to play cards and boy was she good at it. At the age of fifteen, she had beaten her two-thousand-year-old aunts at a game she had never played before. Because of this she has become quite popular amongst the lady of the balcony all wanting to play with her.

Tonight when Sorose entered the upper balcony that looked down to the court below she followed her mother's rules and took a seat next to her at a table filled with other ladies. All of them stopped there whispering as her mother sat because they knew when a superior was around. The table remained silent as her mother carefully and slowly reached into her bag and slammed a deck of cards on the table. Her mother always did have a side for dramatics. The ladies around them burst into laughter and instantly included the two in the latest drama. It was the same, every time. The lady at the tables drank and talked and practically gave their money to Sorose. Lady Lowbane who sat on the other side of her or Sorose's mother was going on about some magical attacks happening in the Night Court.

“It is true, my husband’s brother works in defense of Hewn and he says there have been two attacks in the city this week.” She hadn’t heard about these attacks and by the look of interest on her mother's face, she had either. 

“I doubt it's anything serious.” Her mother added as a servant passed her two glasses of wine, that she then passed one to her daughter. The wine probably wasn’t the best idea, not tonight she needed her shields to be strong. But at the same time she rarely ever got wine only when her mother was in a good mood. Sorose ignored her conscious and brought the glass to her lip taking a small sip. “Probably some low life lesser fairies who wanted to feel powerful for once. They will be caught and dealt with appropriately.”

“I don’t know if Lilith, My husband made it seem bad. As though it wasn't just Hewn getting attacked.” Lady Lowbane continued 

“Maybe it's the Illyrians, the scum is always starting something. The only thing an Illyrian like is getting themselves killed in battle.” Lady Gothovel said as she placed a card down. It was a bad move but Lady Gothovel hadn’t always been the smartest. 

“That's not all true Gothovel, one of them is quite fond of calling himself High Lord,” Lowbane said, earning a laugh from the table. Sorose took another sip of the wine.

“I don't think it was an Illyrian, If it had been, I'm sure papa would have heard about it,” Sorose said, finally joining in on the conversation. She looked at her mother for approval of the comment when Lowbane interrupted. 

‘Whatever it is my husband said it was similar to the Foreshadow killings.” Sorose had never heard of the Foreshadow killings, but from the look on her mother's face at the mention of them, she could tell they weren’t good.

“What are the Foreshadow killings?” Sorose questioned wanted to know more of the matter. 

“My sweet girl you never heard of the Foresh...”

“That's Enough!” Her mother cried out. Something about the mentions of the killings had struck a nerve in her. The table continued to play their game in silence for several minutes. Sorose continued to drink the wine until the doors to the court below banged open and the High Lord and Lady entered the room. 

Sorose watched as the fae crossed the room making the way to their thrones. They seemed to strut as if to show off the power within them. Sorose and the other ladies stood and took a deep bow. Submitting to their superior. They stayed in that position for several moments until their High Lord and Lady deemed them worthy enough to stand. When they finally did rise Sorose was hit with an instant wave of dizziness. The wine glass in her hand fell to the floor spilling the wine on her dress and causing the whole room the turn in her direction. She froze not knowing what to do, she hated people looking at her. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball. 

_ Who are you? _

  
Sorose might have thrown up on herself at the sound of the voice, she feared that voice. The voice of the High Lady was in her head. Her shields, Sorose had let her shields fall in her moment of dizziness. She quickly slammed them down forcing the High Lady out of her mind. Sorose couldn’t hear what her mother was saying, but she could tell she was fusing about the girl. Sorose looked down at the high lady who was staring her down, she whispered something into her mate's ear bringing his attention to Sorose. She was screwed; she had broken her father's rule. The High Lord and Lady’s gaze never left Sorose all night.  _ Shit. _


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I haven't updated in a long time. Life has been super crazy with college applications and my last semester in high school just starting:) I have a lot of work on my to-do list recently. it has been crazy. But My school went on February break this week and I have had time to write. :) Also ACOSF came out and I am shook it's so good, I'm only halfway through it and I love it so much. Nesta has always been a favorite character of mine!  
> Again comments and Kudos are really appreciated!  
> More Updates coming soon  
> Also sorry for any spelling and grammar mistakes I'm SUPER dyslexic   
> TW for this chapter panic attacks and mentions of drug abuse

Azriel had been to Sunhelm many times in his five hundred and seventy-three years, though today was the first time he was seeing the city while the sun still shined upon it. Always had Azriel come under the cover of night, where he could disappear from the eyes of the fae around him, and take information back to his High Lord. Though the city was small compared to his home Velrais, it still seemed to be filled with the same energy of life. Sunhelm was the heart of the day court, it was home to nearly a thousand libraries and universities. The number of scholarly buildings made it so the majority of the people in the city didn’t live here, but would work here and winnow to a home elsewhere. Azriel knew he could never live far away from his family, it would leave him too vulnerable. He probably would have faded into the pit of eternal darkness and despair if it wasn’t for his family. They were his anchor constantly pulling him to the light. He knew he didn’t deserve them. 

Azriel looked up from where he was standing, and the sun cast into his eyes, blinding him for a moment. As beautiful as the city was, the sun was brutal, Azriel truly was a creature of the night. Azriel stood in the middle of a large marble staircase, day court faeries lesser and high alike moved all around him in a crazed manner. None of them seemed to care about the shadowsinger, their minds were all too focused on their own hectic lives. It seemed chaotic and unmanageable, how anyone could focus in a place like this was beyond Azriel? Azriel could feel his heartbeat begin to rise, he hated crowds, to begin with, but this was beyond anything he had experienced in Velaris. It was all too much. The painkillers he had taken the night before still buzzed within him. Why was he here? Why should he be the spymaster if he couldn’t even stand in a crowd of people? Panic. Azriel was starting to panic and he couldn’t stop it. They're nothing to do, He felt utterly out of control. The crowd around Azriel suddenly stopped moving. He was so lost in panicking it took him a moment to realize the chaotic noise of everyday civilians had suddenly gone silent. They were looking up at something he noticed and moved to see whatever it was that had tamed the chaos.

Standing on top of the grand stair several feet from where Azriel stood, the High Lord of Day was waiting for the spymaster, just as Rhysand had promised only moments before. Helion Spellclever stood proudly draped perfectly in white cloth. Tan sandals exposed the Leader’s feet wrapped around both calves and ended just below the male's knees. His complexion shined in the morning autumn sunlight, and under both eyes placed upon the male's high cheekbones was gold paint. One could only describe the leader of the day court as a fallen drop of sun. Azriel never liked Helion, not just for personal reasons but the way he expressed himself. Azriel liked the blend in, to disappear into the shadows entirely and Helion demanded to be seen, he was too much for the shadowsinger. 

“Azriel, Spymaster of the night, Welcome to the day court.” Helion bellowed from above. He motioned for Azriel to join him at the top of the stairs. The eyes of the civilians shifted from their high lord to Azriel, keeping the weight on his chest. It took every bit of strength in Azriel to take the step forward and start to climb the stairs. They were looking at him, why did they have to look at him? Azriel’s head felt light as though he wasn’t in his own body, the rise in his heart rate became almost unbearable. This wasn’t a foreign feeling to the shadowsinger, the suffocation of panic. He didn’t know what it was, the episode of emotions he couldn’t deal with. The feeling would come randomly and out of nowhere. He figured it must be a part of life because it has been happening since he was a small child, the only time they’ve never seemed to happen was when he was with family. 

When Azriel reached the top of the stairs the crowd continued their parade of trying to get to places. Azriel took Helion's hand, giving it a firm shake before quickly putting it beside him. Around the High lord where more males dawned in similar but far more plain robes to that of Helions, they carried books with them, and even from far away, Azriel could tell how old and ancient they were. This surprised Azriel, he thought all the old books had been burned by Amarantha long ago.  _ The High Lord of Day has been busy.  _ For the past 35 years, the day court has been working hard to restore the library that they had lost but this felt nearly impossible. 

“I assume Rhysand told you why I’m here,” Azriel said firmly to the high lord. He moved his eyes from Helion to the males surrounding him. “If we could continue this conversation in private, that would be best.” It wasn’t a lie, the fewer fae who knew about the issue the better, but Azriel needed to be alone or as alone as he could be to stop the panicking feeling. 

“Follow me,” Helion said, grabbing Azriel’s wrist and winnowing them into what looked to be an office, but made entirely of marble similarly to that of the building outside. “Sorry about that Azriel. I don't often wait for Spymasters on those steps, I think my people were just startled to see me. Please sit with me.” Helion crossed the room and seated himself at the head of a large glass table on one side of the room. The room was grand, to say the least. Far grander than the office in the riverside estate where Rhysand and Feyre could often be found hard at work. On one side of the room was a large glass table with gold edges around it, matching chairs were placed around it. While the room appeared to be made out of marble two of the walls were different, one made entirely of glass showing the city below, and the other cover in bookshelves and sat in the middle was a mirror. It was old and had been damaged on the edges, it felt very eerie, strange. 

“Rhysand wouldn’t tell me the details of this visit, but what I gather it’s purely professional.” There was a smirk plastered on Helion's face. Azriel knew it would only be a matter of time before the sexual advances came.

“What else would it be?” Azriel shouts back. 

“I think we both know.” Helion cleared his throat “I was told you were looking for the meaning of a symbol.”

“Yes here.” Azriel reached into his pocket and took out the small piece of paper given to him by Rhys and handed it to the High Lord. “I don't know what it is but it seems awfully…”

“Familiar. It should be to you at least. It is a symbol written in Isili, an ancient language spoken in the Night Court.” Azriel had never heard of such a language before. Besides the Illyrians the Night Court never had a separate language like some of the other courts had, they only spoke in the common tongue. Helion leaned back in his chair, his face was plastered with a confused expression. “The word was said to have died thousands of years ago. I cannot give you the information you seek but I know of someone who might.”

“Who?” 

“Her name is Tatulah. The last I had heard of her was that she had taken over the Weaver’s old cabin a couple of years ago. She moves around a lot so she might not even be there. She is old, Shadowsinger. Ancient. Old and difficult, she will not give the information easily.” Azriel would go anywhere to help his court even if it meant dealing with an old fae. Hell, he dealt with Amren’s crap almost any day.

“I do not think it will be a problem,” Azriel states with the most confidence he had had in what felt like in years. Helion leaned forward in his chair looking at Azriel. He was serious, Azriel could see it in his eyes

“Do not let your arrogance deceive you, Azriel of the Night. She doesn’t quiver before fae males.”

“She's not Fae?” Azriel questioned the High Lord. he felt as though this might be a trap, but Helion wouldn’t do that, would he?

“No. I don't know what she is.” Helion stood making way across the room to a book that sat on one of the many bookshelves that lined the room. “You cannot winnow there, you must save your strength for the journey back to the night court. Flying would also take far too long. Now if you'll excuse me.” 

Magic flowed in the room, Azriel could feel it. Helion’s arms began to glow as he seemed to pull energy from all around them. With a push of his arms, he sent the spell flying toward the mirror that had not begun to glow. What once showed the reflection of the room in which Azriel's stood, had now been replaced by dark and foul woods. The middle. The most dangerous and wild part of Prythian. Primal magic still lived and flowed through those lands. Whoever chose to live there had to have a reason. A dark and potentially very dangerous reason.

“You should go, She’ll be expecting you.”

And so after one final look back at the High Lord. Azriel stepped into the mirror and the woods beyond.

  
...  
  
  


The smell was what hit Azriel first, a dead, decomposing, rotten scent he had smelled many times in the aftermath of battlefields. The whole forest seemed to be dead, as though the Weaver had been the thing keeping it alive. When Azriel turned around to look and the hole in the world he came through, it was gone. 

_ Stuck, Great. _

His only way home would be to fly until he reached the boundary of Rhys’s power and wait for him to winnow him home. Azriel loved to fly as all Illyrians do but flying after the pills were always difficult. The feeling of numbness that had grazed over him hours ago was starting to replace itself with a pounding headache. Azriel’s head always seemed to ring, sometimes it was his brother's voice or a shadow whispering a secret, but the majority of the time it was the need for more numbness. 

Azriel looked toward the cottage in front of him, What once used to be a house made from the bones and flesh of those who dared cross the Weaver, was now made of woods. Rotting and decomposing wood, but wood nonetheless. The structure must have been the same as before. The chimney made of hair that Azriel’s High Lady had once destroyed while trying to fetch a ring for Rhysand was now made of stone. Clear of any smoke, great veins grew up the side becoming one with what now was stone that now stood there. Whatever lived here had used magic to change the house. 

Azriel drew Truth-teller from his side, flipping once in hand before and bracing it against his forearm. The blade had been like a companion, only once had it left his side. As Azriel approached the house he realized the windows and door to the cabin had been bored up with pieces of scrap wood and nails. Whatever lived here didn’t want visitors and made that very clear. No wards or protection surrounded the house making it easy for Azriel to slip into his shadows and walk through the door as though it hadn’t even been there.

The cabin was dark, the only light in the house had seeped through the boarded-up windows. The smell of death had only intensified once Azriel was inside the cottage. Mice and bugs who must have lived there scattered at the sight of the Shadowsigner. Empty. The place was empty. The only thing that stood in the room was an old weaving machine. Azriel stepped into the middle of the cabin in disbelief. This cabin had once been home to a collection of rare and beautiful trinkets, now it sat rotting, completely abandoned. Azriel concluded that Helion must have lied to him and in a moment of post painkiller high and desperation, he hadn’t caught it.

“You know it's considered quite rude to waltz into someone's home without an invitation, Spymaster. Especially someone’s home as old as myself.” Azriel whipped around him at the sound of the voice. Truth-teller immediately following his movement. To his surprise, he saw an old woman standing before him. She looked human but much shorter. The woman came up to Azriel’s hip, her back hunched over as she leaned on a walking stick. The woman’s clothes were layers upon layers of tan cloth and her head was wrapped with the same material forming a large bun. Azriel had heard of groups of females on the continent that chose to cover their hair but never had he seen any in Prythian. Under the woman’s eyes was painted a dark red line that continued one ear to the other, a similar line was drawn under the chin. It was the same color of blood. This couldn’t be the thing Helion had sent him here for. Humans and Fae alike both carry scents with them, the woman, to Azriel's surprise however carried no scent with her. His shadow had gone silent at the sight of her, in fear or confusion Azriel couldn't tell. Whatever she was, it was not Fae, and now that he thought about it she wasn’t entirely human either. “Oh, will you put that knife down you will not need it here?” The woman pushed past Azriel, hitting him with her stick a couple of times to move him out of her way. Azriel was in her house he realized and it was either move or move. The woman walked to a loose floorboard in the corner of the room that was hidden by the Weaver’s machine, she brought her walking stick up and three times brought it down as if she was knocking on a door. As a signal, the floorboard shot up revealing a small staircase.

The Women looked back at Azriel, a wicked, teasing smile crept upon her face. “Follow me please.” Motioning to Azriel once before disappearing down the stairs below. Azriel stood quietly in the center, Truth-teller still by his side, trying to process what had just happened. Follow her. She knows. She Knows. The shadows whispered desperately and reluctantly Azriel followed. 

The stairs it seemed were a very small and tight fit for the Illyrian warrior, he had to crouch to fit himself down and still scratched on the steps behind him. The sensitivity of his wings and the feeling of the wood made Azriel wince. Azriel hadn’t been paying attention when he reached the end of the staircase for when he stood up he smacked his already aching head against the wooden boards of the ceiling. 

“Mind your head” The woman yelled back to him, laughing quietly to herself at the shadowsigners misfortune. Azriel was starting to get annoyed with the women. The room that he had entered wasn’t entirely small but the sheer amount of stuff made it feel entirely cramped. Stacks on stacks of books litter the floor and the table where the woman was now hustling about was covered in maps and diagrams. A small bed sat unmade in the corner of the room with a bed stand covered in pill bottles and drugs. Azriel cringed as the picture felt all too familiar. The women turned around and pointed to a chair for Azriel to sit in, it was covered in bugs all eating away at the thing. Though when Azriel went to refuse, preferring to stand hunched over than be covered in insects, the woman flicked her hand and the chair moved toward him knocking him back into the chair. Azriel knew he should have waited for his high to come down completely before he left for the mission. He knew the woman would have been giving him answers the moment he stepped into her territory if he had only been in the correct headspace.

“Who are you?” Azriel question the woman

“Now that is a very open-ended question, one I haven't heard in a long time. But you already know who I am. I am Tatulah.” So Helion hadn’t lied, after all, the woman who was bustling about the table before Azriel had been the creature he was looking for. Tatulah had climbed up on the table and reached for a jar on one of the shelves next to her. When she opened the jar in hand a swarm of cockroaches crawled out, running to find a new hole in the walls. Azriel had cringed with disgust as Tatulah jumped down from the table she stood upon. Amren wasn’t the only short and ancient thing wreaking havoc upon this world after all. “What you meant to ask me is: What are you? And to that, I answer… Well, I don't know it seems I forgot.” For a quick moment, a look of sadness had cast upon the creature's face, Azriel had understood. He knew the pain of not knowing who one was. The sadness however passed like a fleeting shadow, as Tatulah turned her attention and lifted a hot kettle. “Tea?” The creature said pouring the hot water in a wooden mug that had tea that had come from the jar of roaches placed in only moments before. She held the cup up to Azriel, it appeared to be leaking from the bottom.

“No.” The woman took a large sip., before placing it down on the table. She was annoyed with Azriel’s bluntness.

“Well, that leads me to another important question. If you're not here for tea, then why are you here Spymaster?” The creature placed her hands on her hips, the happy demeanor she had presented before had quickly changed. Azriel could tell she didn’t take visitors lightly, and as far as she was concerned he was intruding. 

“I need answers. I was told you could give them to me.” 

“Well isn’t that a bold assumption on your end?” The light returned to the creature's face. “As you can see I am quite old. 11,492 years to be exact. My memory is not like it used to be. And even If I did know the knowledge of which you so desperately seek, who is to say I would give them to you.” 

“There are ways, ways I can make you talk,” Azriel said leaning closer to the women. He knew it was risky to threaten the women, Helion had specifically advised him against it. But the spymaster needed answers now, he couldn’t fail Rhys.

“Oh, I do not doubt there are many ways by which you can bring someone to the knees for answers. But you will not have the chance to touch me, Spymaster.” Tatulah had leaned in to match Azriel, their faces were inches away. They both were fighting for dominance over the conversation. She does not quiver before fae males. The High Lord had meant what he said. The image of the old women going head to head with the spymaster was probably a sight to behold. She hadn’t taken to being threatened lightly. “Yes, I know of you Spymaster. I could smell your High Lord Rhysand on you from the moment you step into the middle in here. The secrets you must hold. I suggest if you're going to ask me for something, you better do it quickly and respectfully.”

Azriel had always been a rather competitive person. He knew how to win and liked it greatly. But he could see that messing with a creature he knew nothing about could only end badly, for both him and Tatulah. For all, he could know this creature could be Amren's long-lost sister. Azriel backed down, taking his seat in the chair of insects. With a sigh, Azriel explained to Tatulah the problem in the night court. He told of the monsters and the murder and how only moments before Helion had sent him to her. A look of concerned concentration took over her face, At one point Azriel didn’t even Know if Tatulah had been listening. When he was done she looked down at the cup of tea she had been nursing and the back up to Azriel.

“Interesting.” Azriel noticed how lost in thought she had been during his story. Suddenly she snapped out of it as nothing had happened. “I cannot help you.”

“What do you mean?!” Azriel said, shooting up from his chair hitting his head against the wooden ceiling once more.

“Well, I am far too old to be going off into the wood and fighting the creatures responsible for these attacks. That seems like a job more suited for a strong male like yourself.” Tatulah crossed to the other side of the table and with her walking stick started gently pushing Azriel back towards the stairs “Well off you go, I gave you my answer. Come one right this way don't let the door hit you on the way…”

“Wait,” Azriel growled, turning around to look at the creature once more. He had just then remembered a piece of paper that he had in his pocket. He pulled it out and showed it to her “Have you ever seen this symbol before?”

Tatulahs face drained of all its color, as she turned a pale white color. The creature who had been joyful bantering with Azriel only moments ago was lost. Something about the symbol had struck something deep within Tatulah, something personal. 

“Where did you find this symbol?!” Tatulah said anger present in her voice “WHERE DID YOU GET IT?” She screeched at Azriel. She was irrational.

“It was left near the attacks written in the blood of…”

“The victim, yes I know.” She knew this symbol somehow, Azriel needed to know why. Tatulah was frantic as she began scurrying around the room. She was muttering something to herself. Azriel couldn’t make out what it was she was saying. She was looking for something she was tearing through her books throwing the ones that were what she was looking for. The insects and mice retreated, scared of the mad creature before them. 

“What does this mean?” Tatulah instantly shushed the spymaster.

“Why do I feel a connection to the symbol?” Azriel stuttered out. “My shadows won't say anything about it. They fear it, I can tell. They have never done this before. Please tell me what does it mean?!” Azriel hadn’t realized how desperate he had started to sound. It all started to become too much. The feeling of panic had returned, though this time it was stronger and harder. Tatulah stopped her panicking movements at the mention of the shadows.

“Shadows? You are a Shadowsigner?” Tatulah asked him her voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, I've had them since I was a boy.”

Tatulah looked up at Azriel, tears threatened to fall from her eyes. Tatulah broke her gaze and turned to the Night Stand. She opened the drawer carefully and cautiously pulled out a book. It was thick and looked to be as old as she was.

“It can not be,” she said, her head shaking.

“What can not be?! Please tell me” Azriel said, stepping closer to the creature. He instantly regretted it, quicker than he could process Tatulah pulled a knife from her clothes and sliced Azriel’s palm. She dug her fingers into the wound coating them evenly with his blood.

“What the hell?” Azriel swore, pulling his hand to his chest.

“Name. Give me your name, quickly!” Tatulah went to her table and pushed all the books, maps, and cups of tea to the floor. She opened the book to a blank page and placed it on the now cleared table.

“Azriel.”

Tatulah took the hand that was covered in Azriel blood and wrote his name, each Letter more grotesque than the last. When she was done the blood sept into the page, as though she had somehow erased it. A symbol appears on the page, identical to the one Azriel had shown her. The symbol was written in his blood. Azriel had never seen magic like this. 

“It can not be and yet it is.” Tatulah stared down at the book in disbelief. 

“What are you talking about…”

Before Azriel could finish his question. Tatulah reached over the table for Azriel, grabbing his jaw, like a child being scolded by their mother. The room was cool and the few lights in the room went out. Tatulah was changed, her body shines in the darkness and all the joy had been sucked from her. Azriel couldn’t move. He was afraid, truly and deeply afraid. Power. Whatever this was, Azriel knew it was some sort of raw power that hadn’t been known for over thousands of years. 

_ “The mountain of Isili has begun to the creek once more, _

_ Fires of Demera’s curse begin to burn brightly anew.  _

_ What once was lost had come again, reborn _

_ Those who remember the time of great are few.” _

Tatulah's voice sounded like death incarnate. Azriel's ears hurt just listening to her speak. He wanted her to stop, He never knew pain as dark as this. For when Tatulah spoke, Azriel had forgotten what joy felt like.

_ “The Ancient ways have begun to speak,  _

_ modeled from the darkness in which their power grew. _

_ The Nardaak rise in the palace that only they can seek,  _

_ gifted with a curse that can not be withdrew. _ ”

She continued regardless. Azriel couldn’t stop looking at Tatulah, he noticed she was dying. The power was too much to continue. Her arms and face began to disintegrate. Azriel wanted to tell her to stop but could find the will to speak.

_ “It shall be then when the tenth moon shines no more, _

_ Only if the chosen shall each other for their worth. _

_ And the lovers of darkness reunited like before, _

_ Beware, Age of shadow shall either take its place among the dead or raise for rebirth.” _

  
Tatulah let go of Azriel's face, he instantly fell backward on the chair he sat in before. His vision was blurring in and out. His chest burned like someone had taken a hot knife to his heart. Azriel looked up at the creature Tatulah as she smiled once last time and embraced death. Azriel couldn’t find it in him to mourn the creature as needed to find the reason his chest hurt so much. He tore through the buttons and ties of his Illyrian leather, practically ripping it open. In the center of Azriel’s chest, the symbol had been branded onto his skin, the scar was similar to that of the ones of his hands. Azriel was going into shock he could feel.  _ Help. Weaver’s cabin. Help. _ Azriel knew he was too far for his brother’s bond to reach him. The world was quickly engulfed in darkness.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here another update!  
> I'm trying to force myself to post on a weekly schedule. I'm thinking either Thursdays or Fridays. I really think this fic is starting to kick off.   
> I finished ACOSF three days ago and I cried for two hours in the end. I love these characters so much and I know SJM is super problematic, but Nesta's character is proof that the way strong women are written is changing. Nesta's character is proof that anyone can make a difference and anyone can struggle.   
> I'm also going to try and to merge parts of ACOSF in this fic as much as possible.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.   
> Kudos and comments are appreciated!  
> TW! for the chapter, talk about depression and domestic abuse.

_ That girl, the one that fainted. do you know her? _

_ No. _

_ I looked into her mind. _

_ And what did you find?  _

_ The unthinkable. _

“We have to help her Rhys!” Feyre shouted at her mate as they crossed into the front hall of their Riverside home. They had left Hewn City as soon as Amren had returned from snooping around and considering the second’s mood she hadn’t found anything useful. The arguing had started about two minutes after their departure when Feyre demanded they turn around and go get the girl on the balcony. Not just any girl but Mor’s sisters. Her best friend in the whole world had a sister, she wasn’t going to wait around for this girl to die at the hands of the Stewart. She had only looked inside her mind for a split second before being shoved out, though she had seen enough. Sorose, a beautiful name, was only a month past her eighteen birthday and she was afraid. The fear in Sorose’s mind was what shook feyre to her core. She had never felt fear like that, fear with no hope of escape. Feyre could tell Sorose was starting to give up, the fear she had of her father was starting to consume her. 

“I'm sorry I don't know what we can do, Feyre” Rhys retorted back, kicking his shoes off near the bench that sat in the front hall. Rhys turned left down the hall making his way to their grand living room. 

“We could save her from that awful hell of a home, and bring her back here to Velaris with us.” Feyre was angry with her mate and rightfully so. She followed right behind her mate, her anger grew with every step. He could never understand. Rhys hadn’t even considered turning around for the girl, saying they could discuss it later. Feyre knew that Sorose was eighteen, her time was very much limited, soon she would be sold off to a rich faerie prince. To table this conversation would be adding the final chain on the shackle that held Sorose down.

“I would love to do that Feyre. But we have to think of the consequences saving her would bring about,” Rhys crossed to the far side of the living room where a cart of fine whiskey stood. With a now full glass in hand, Rhys moved into one of the large leather chairs in front of the fireplace that had instantly glowed brightly the moment he stepped in the room. “Kier almost went to war after what happened with Mor. We can't handle that right now”

“She is a child, Rhysand!” Feyre yelled at her mate, begging him to understand. The High Lady of the Night Court had been nineteen when she went under the mountain. Feyre often thought about how she had been too young, how she had seen and experienced things far too quickly than she should have. Things she now will carry with her for the rest of her life. This girl was a year younger than she had been when she was dragged over the wall and had lived in the hewn city her whole light. When Feyre thought about it this girl had probably never seen the sun or the star before. Cruel, it was all so cruel.

“She is 18, technically she is an adult by Night Court laws.”

“And that makes it right.”

“What is going on?” Both Feyre and Rhysand turned at the voice. In the doorway stood Cassian. The general was dressed in his pajamas, hair had been tied in a knot above his head, And going off of the redness in his eyes, the High Lord and Lady could tell Ciaran hadn’t given Cass an easy time. 

“Fuck.” Rhys stood at the sight of his friend. He leaned against the mantle staring into the fire, taking the same position he had only hours, right before they left. With a long breath in Rhys cleared his mind enough to speak. “It has come to our attention that Kier and his mate had a second daughter, Eighteen years ago. we just found out tonight.”

“Fuck” Cassian said crossing into the room, he took the sister seat to one Rhysand had been sitting in. “What are you going to do?”

“We are going to get her out. We are going to bring it home. We are going to put an end to this. I looked into her mind, she is a kind person.” 

“No, we are not doing that” Rhys said, he was getting frustrated but then again so was Feyre. The couple was not one to argue and least not verbally. Disagreements between the two often found it was into their bedroom or a desk, or most definitely the wall. But the solution to this disagreement wouldn’t be found in a heated moment, this was far too serious. 

“And why not?!” Feyre shouted, turning away from Rhysand, a tear sliding down her face, her heart was breaking for Sorose.

“Because …” Rhysand stopped when he saw the tears falling down her face. He hated seeing her cry. He hated himself for being the one who made her cry. Rhys crossed over to Feyre, Sitting himself on the coffee table before the couch she sat on. “Feyre look at me.” Slowly feyre lifted her gaze to meet his. “I would love to help this girl with all my heart, to extend our family to her. But Kier, he knows where Velaris is. He's been here before. He will not lose the grip he has on another child. Velaris can’t handle being attacked right now.” It was true. The city had grown so much since the war. The children who went to Feyre’s class had all grown up, some became artists themselves, some still came by to speak to the high lady, and some brought their children for classes. Velaris had grown so much. 

“So we give up on her?” Feyre whispered, eyes pulling away from the violet ones that meet her. 

“We cannot put the people of Velaris lives in danger over one girl Feyre. I'm sorry.”

“She is your cousin, Rhys. She doesn’t belong there.” It was her final plea. She had to get this girl out. She couldn’t leave her there. She couldn’t leave a dreamer to die in a city of nightmares. 

“I'm sorry,” Rhys said, taking Feyre’s face in his hands and gently brushed a kiss to the top of her forehead, the pads of his thumbs softly wiped away the tear that fell from her eyes. It wasn’t an easy decision. That was his family, his cousin. Leaving her in Hewn had broken a part of Rhys's heart. Bringing her here would only bring harm to his home, possibly even his mate and child. As unbearable as it was, he couldn’t do it. 

“What are you going to tell Mor?” Cassian said breaking the heavy silence that filled the room.

Oh, Gods Mor.

“I don't know” Rhys spoke.

“We aren’t going to tell her,”

Amren, who sat in a dark corner of the room had finally decided to join in the conversation at hand. Feyre hadn’t even realized the second was still here until she said something. It wasn’t unusual for Amren to be extremely quiet. She often chose silence, whether it be simple like of quiet or dramatic effect no one knew, no one questioned. This often leads to the ancient fae accidentally scarring members of the Inner circle, all except for Azriel. Amren never could creep upon him. 

“We can't do that, how can we hide this from her?” Rhys groaned.

“Shall I remind you, boy, what your mate did when Elain was taken by Hybern?” A memory Feyre tried not to think of often. “The Morrigan will be the same, tell her of this girl and I can not guarantee her reaction will be pleasant. Tell Morrigan of her sister, and war shall come one way or another.” Feyre couldn’t even imagine how they were going to not tell Mor of the sister she never knew. Feyre loved her sisters and would do anything to make sure they were safe. She was so proud of how far both Nesta and Elain had come since they were thrown in the cauldron. Mor would probably crawl out of hell all of again for Sorose. 

“I don't like lying to her. It doesn’t right.” Feyre murmured looking down at her hands and the small line of dried paint was visible on her right hand. She wondered if it had been all night.

“You can not lie to the Morrigan, she will know if you do.”

“Not telling her this feels a lot like lying.” Feyre looked Amren in the eyes

“When Mor comes home tomorrow no one is to say anything about this. Do you understand?” Rhys said looking at feyre. She didn’t meet his stare. She wouldn’t tell Mor of her sister but if she asked, she knew she couldn’t lie. “Where’s Azriel?”

“I thought he was with you.” Cassian

“Fuck.” Rhys murmured, standing he headed for the door Cassian at his side. Azriel was supposed to be back hours ago. He was supposed to  come along to their visit to Hewn City. It wasn’t just odd the Spymaster was late. It was concerning. Rhys always tended to worry, but even Feyre knew if Azriel hadn’t reported back yet something was most likely wrong. 

Rhysand and Cassian had barely to the archway leading them to the hallway When the sound of glass shattered filled the room. It was followed with a loud thud. 

  
***  
  


Sorose was known for having an exceptionally bad experience at court. Last night was no exception. It wasn’t the worst time she had while at court, no she saved the spot for the solstice ball two years ago. 

_ Sorose always liked solstice, not because of the presents, or the grand food. But even father, not how wicked and cruel he may be, always seemed to be in a little better of a mood on the holiday. She didn’t know why the holiday made him kinder, but the cruelty that usually lingerie in his eye somehow fluttered away for a brief moment. Sorose loved the way she could breathe on the solstice. _

_ It had started like any trip to the court. Misty had done her hair, braiding and dawning it with elegant ribbons and Jules. Then her mother came in with the new dress, she had a new one made for the occasion. A gift, an early solstice present for Sorose. She remembers that dress, it was made entirely with a poofy tulle of a soft cream color. She remembered the way it hung off of her shoulders, the way it moved when she had tailored. Her mother had told her that she was certain to find her husband in a gown like that. Something twisted in Sorose’s stomach at her mother's comment. She hadn’t even begun bled yet and her mother was already trying to play matchmaker.  _

_ Once she had arrived, Sorose quickly began looking for her dearest friend, Lorella. It had only taken her a moment to find her friend, sitting in one of the corners of the upper balcony. Lorella was Sorose's only friend, besides that of Misty whom Sorose considered more of a guardian angel than a friend. But Lorella was beautiful, courageous, and never once treated Sorose with cruelty or malice. Sorose loved Lorella like a sister. The memory of what Lorella had been wearing that night still burned in Sorose’s mind. Lorella had chosen a skin-tight dress of blood red that matched her darker complexion perfectly. Her hair had been braid into many small braids, each braid adorned with all types of silver decoration. Sorose had always been a tad jealous of her friend when it came to looks, Lorella was as she liked to put it “simply perfect”. Sorose always thought of herself as looking like a child when standing next to Lorella, a tall, lanky child.  _

_ Lorella looked up at Sorose, a mischievous smirk was plastered on her face. It was smirking like that, they always meant trouble for Sorose.  _ _ Lorella explained to Sorose that she wanted to go to the main floor of the Court to dance with a boy she had a few weeks before, but simply couldn’t do it without her. Sorose knew she would be breaking her father's rules, the High Lord and Lady would be at the celebration, but she couldn’t say no to her friends.  _

_ It hadn't been hard to sneak on the first floor. She and Lorella’s mothers were beyond drunk and her father would be too busy trying to kiss the High Lord's feet to give a crap about what his daughter was doing.  _

_ Lorella had beamed with joy as she and the young male she was dancing with moved about the room. Sorose who watched quietly from the corner of the room felt the same joy as her friend. Lorella had an infectious smile, one that could make even the grumpiest of fae laugh. It was a couple of dances later that a male approached Sorose asking if she would like to dance. She didn’t know who the male was, but like that of Sorose, his face showed an expression of incredible loneliness.  _

_ The male's eyes were the first thing Sorose noticed. Eyes of a beautiful golden hazel, his eyes looked as though they were made of pure honey. Never had she seen eyes like his. _

_ Sorose liked the way they made her nervous.  _

_ Nervous and yet excited at the same time. The male held out a hand and instantly she took it. Sorose expected to feel a smooth hand like that of her father's, but this male’s hand was filled with bumps and ridges.  _

_ Scars. _

_ His hands were filled with scars similar to those on her own back. When the male's gaze met hers again while leading her to the dance floor, he gave her a look as if he was sorry for his hand. Sorose shot him an expression back to say I too know your pain.  _

_ Sorose and her mystery male danced to two songs together. He led her through both of them. The first dance was slow and with small movements, they moved as if together somehow they were one being. They didn’t speak a word to each other just moving in beautiful comfortable silence, Sorose didn't think she would have been able to say anything to the male if he talked to her. Never had she felt such peace within herself than she had during that first dance.  _

_ The second dance however was faster, upbeat, and Sorose laughed as hard as she could when the stranger picked her up and spun her to the rhythm of the song. Joy like this must only come once every lifetime, Sorose thought, for when the second song ended, and her mysterious stranger kissed her hand farewell. A second male approached her hand to dance, she turned to meet the eyes of her father. Everything around Sorose began to spin as her father took her hand and led her into the next dance, leaving her stranger to become memories.  _

_ Kier's grip on Sorose’s hand had been hand-breakingly tight, when the song finished all he did was lean down and whisper in her ear said: “run while you can girl, I’ll be dealing with you later.”The beating that came that night was so bad she couldn’t leave her bed for five days.  _

_ Still, Sorose sees the vision of her father ripping her dress off her back saying he wanted to watch the blood leave her body. He took pleasure in breaking the bones in her hand, the same hands that had danced with a male hours before. Sorose and Lorella had broken her father's rules before but never have the punishment been that bad.  _

_ Sorose never saw her stranger again, only once in a while did he visit her in dreams. . Sometimes while at court she will hear the songs that played while she danced with her stranger, never has she thought of that night without a tear falling down her cheek.  _

_ Sorose never saw Lorella again. While Sorose had been recovering from her father's punishment her friend, at last, got her bleeding. She was quickly sent off to the continent where an arranged marriage had been waiting for her.  _

Sorose had been awake for an hour thinking about her friend. She wondered what became of Lorella. If her husband was kind. If she had found love within her marriage. Maybe Lorella had a child, maybe she named it after sorose. They had promised to do so when they were very young. 

The sound of Misty opening the servant's door in her room snapped sorose from her thoughts. Misty hadn’t said anything to Sorose last night, she could see the understanding in Misty's eye. She had known something went wrong at court and that Sorose did want to talk about it. 

_ Who are you? _

The voice of the High Lady still rang in Sorose head. The panic still thrummed in her heartbeat. She didn’t know how much the High Lady saw. Didn’t want to know how much trouble she would eventually be in. 

Sorose turned so that she could see Misty as she walked in to greet her. Misty wore her traditional uniform of a plain grey dress and white apron. Her hair was always braided simply with a few loose brown strands hanging free. Misty had always been considerably short for a fae, part of Sorose always would if the servant was only partially fae. She knew better than to ask though, it didn’t matter though. Misty was kind and that's what mattered to the girl. 

Misty carried in a tray with her. Mostly like Sorose’s breakfast. Misty only brought up breakfast when she wanted Sorose to eat something. Sorose could smell the eggs and toast from down the hall. The smell alone made her nauseous.

“I'm not eating that, Misty. You can have it.” Misty usually ended up eating the food Sorose rejected. 

“I already ate my breakfast, so now you have to eat it,” Misty laid the tray next to the bed where Sorose slept. The faerie pushed Sorose’s legs over so she could sit on the bed with Sorose. Sorose had seen this act before, Misty would whisper kind words to her and then beg until Sorose took at least a couple of bits. Sorose flipped over on her side facing away from the lesser Fae before she could even begin. 

“Misty, I can’t. I don't know how many times I’ve told you this” Sorose knew she was being rude. Misty had made her breakfast and she was acting like a child in return. Deep down Sorose felt as though she didn’t deserve the kindness Misty showed her. She didn’t deserve anything.

“Yes, I know.” Misty laid a gentle hand on Sorose's arm, rubbing a soft and gentle circle. Misty never touched Soroses back; she knew better than that. “But I have told you an equal amount of time that if you continue to not eat you’ll end killing yourself.” Sorose pulled the blankets from her bed over her shoulder, trying to stop the affection she didn’t deserve. Misty let out a heavy sigh.“I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to, can you do this for me. Don't you want to live, Sorose?” 

No. 

Sorose knew deep down that a part of her didn’t want to live. It was a small part, but it was there and it terrified her.

“It is not a life worth living.” It was all she could think of.

“Sorose.” Misty sighed again. “Look at me.” Begrudgingly Sorose sat up, letting the blankets fall from her shoulders. Misty took her calloused work through her hands and held Soros's face. “Don’t you ever, even for one moment think that you aren’t worth it. You, my sweet child, are worth more than the stars themself.” Sorose smiled at her friend. Then she let her gaze fall to her lap. 

Red. Blood Red.

For on her white nightgown at the spot where her thighs meet was stained with blood. Sorose didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t move. One thing she feared more than anything had come to fruition. 

“No no no no.” Sorose cried trying to wipe the blood away as if it would fix it. Sorose felt like she was going to be sick. “Help me, please Misty. you must help me.” 

Misty looked at Sorose, She was in just as much shock as Sorose. Misty burst to her feet, nearly knocking over the tray of food, and quickly began to cover up the evidence.

Sorose and Misty had made a plan for the day her bleedings came when she was thirteen. Misty had hidden a pair of extra sheets in Sorose's closet, they had been sitting in the same basket for five years waiting to be used. Misty would throw the extra sheets down the laundry shoot, as quickly as she could she would make the bed and hide in the dirty sheets in the closet. Sorose would clean herself off in the bathroom and claim to be too sick to go to court that night. Later that night when everyone was asleep Sorose would burn the sheets in the fireplace in her bedroom. Was it risky? Yes. Was it safe? No. But it was the only hope Sorose could hold on to.

Sorose had been so panicked while sitting in the bathtub she hadn’t seen when Misty snuck the dirty sheets out. 

***

Sorose had never liked her father's office, she was only ever allowed in the room when her father decided for the girl. 

Sorose knew the room all too well.

She knew the large arched windows that looked out to the city below the estate. She knew how hard the large oak desk that sat in the center of the room could feel against her head. She knew the legs of the leather chairs, she held on to those wooden legs, tears running down her legs while she begged her father for mercy. 

Sorose had been asleep when a faerie servant other than Misty came and woke her, telling her she was needed in the office. 

Her stomach dropped.

Had something gone wrong? Had her father found the sheets that were hidden so no one could find them? Could he smell it on her, Had he noticed the shift in her scent?

Sorose stood wrapping her morning robe around her waist and tied a tight knot. As she walked down the hall of her childhood house, her body shaking with fear.  _ He can never hurt you,  _ Sorose told herself  _ You are stronger than him. _ When she reached the double doors to her father’s office she paused. Sorose closed her eyes and took one large breath in,  _ You are going to be alright _ , She released the breath and opened the door.

She hadn’t been prepared for what she saw. 

In front of the large stone fireplace that burned in the office, stood her mother and Misty. Her mother looked at her with a small smile on her face and yet Sorose could see that slowly tears fell down her cheeks. Misty, however, who stood slightly behind her mother, looked straight at the floor. She wouldn’t meet Sorose gazed. 

Her father however leaned in front of his desk, both hands braced on either side. Sorose fell to her knees at the sight of her bloody bedsheets in the hand of her father.

“It has come to my attention, daughter, that you think yourself very clever.” Sorose flinched at the voice, how darkened it was my anger. Kier pushed himself off the desk and dropped the dirty sheet right in front of where she knelt. Sorose turned her gaze to the bloody sheet. “If you thought you could hide this from me, you were painstakingly wrong. I thought you would have by now, I know everything girl.” Kier grabbed his daughter's face digging his nails into her skin, He hoped it would draw blood. He forced Sorose's face to look in the direction of her nursemaid. Misty still would look at her. “You thought to put your trust in Misty, of course, who wouldn’t help poor, sweet, innocent, little Sorose. She ran right to me after she finished with you.” Kier let go of Sorose’s face pushing her to the floor.

“Why?” Sorose choked out while braced on her hands and knees. Misty only looked at the window, her expression utterly blank. 

“You never can trust anyone these days. Misty come here.” Kier motioned for the servant. Misty obliged. Kier grabbed Misty's left arm, waving his hand above the tattoo on her forearm. That tattoo indebted misty to Kier, that tattoo was the reason she worked at the Darkbringer estate. The tattoo disappeared. “Free at last, get out before I change my mind.” The mist had betrayed Sorose. The female before Sorose had raised her and without a second thought, she condemned her to a life of hell for freedom. Misty didn’t even at Sorose when she walked out the door to the office, closing it hard behind her. Kier walked over to the side of his desk and grabbed a walking cane that he used when the High Lord took his temp out on the male. Kier came up behind Sorose who still knelt on the floor. “When I am done with you my sweet Sorose, you're going to beg for death.”

Sorose looked to her mother, whose smile had all but faded. The cane came down straight on Soroses back. Pain erupted through her body as she screamed. Lady Lilith flinched at the noises that came from her daughter, tears flowed hard now. The cane went down a second time.

“Please,  _ MAMA! _ Please!” Sorose begged her Mother to make it stop. The cane came down a third time. The lady Darkbringer turned away, not being able to bear it.

  
  



End file.
